The Guardian
by Silver Spider
Summary: While on a cross-country road trip with Dick, Jason grudgingly renters the world of the living outside of Wayne Manor. But when tragedy strikes, the only place to turn to will always be family. Sequel to "The Changeling".
1. Part I

_**Author's Note:**_ Hello again, everyone! First of all, I want to again say thank you for all the wonderful reviews I've received for this fic's predecessor, "The Changeling" and also for "Deluge in the Wasteland." I'm very proud of both of those, so your support is highly appreciated. Second, I'm going to be at the NYC Comic Con tomorrow :) So if anyone wants to hang, let me know!

A few words about this fic:

* The idea and title of this fic is kind of the reverse of "The Changeling". The first story was about Jason and Damian's return home, the question of which of them is the _real_ son/brother. Of course, the answer is 'both'. Jason was the big bother, the protector. In this fic, since it starts out with Dick and Jason, we have a bit of a roll reversal and see how Jason deals with being the younger one. Of course as the story goes on, we'll get more and more characters.

* It takes place about 6 months after "The Changeling" so everyone is still kinds of adjusting. Some ideas/decisions for this fic actually came to me while I was in the middle of writing its predecessor. Most of those are centered around what secondary characters are alive or not and when in the old DC-timeline does this take place.

* There are a few italics sections that are either dreams, flashbacks, or thoughts. It's easy enough to distinguish.

* This fic will borrow elements of two major DC events and I may take others. Most of those are general JLA stories. Some will impact the Bat-family more than others, but all will be told from their povs. And on that note, I'll also say that some characters will not come off in the greatest light, not because I don't like them, but because if it's told from Jason's pov, he has some very strong oppinions based on personal history with either the person or the topic.

**The Guardian**

**By:****Silver****Spider**

_It's a different version of the dream, but somehow the same. Always the same..._

_There's darkness, deep and penetrating, and cold dampness everywhere. Jason tries to scream but his lungs are filled with fluid – or maybe there's just no air, he doesn't know – and the scream dies._

_This isn't supposed to be happening. It's not! Not again._

_A light appears in the distance, and Jason wants to run, even crawl, any way to get to it. It glimmers, winks once then dims. It's about to go out, trapping him forever in this dank hell._

"_No!"_

Jason sat bolt upright, cold sweat covering every inch of his skin. He almost fell back down immediately. The covers were tightly tucked into the mattress, confining, constricting. He pushed at them, panting, but they didn't budge enough. With a cry of frustration, he tore at them, and finally – finally! - he was free. Why were they like that? Alfred knew he couldn't stand that tucked in feeling. Not anymore.

"Jay?" A light on the bedside table went on.

His head jerked sharply to his left, pulling a muscle painfully. Dick was getting out of a bed only a few feet away from his. A deep frown creased his brother's forehead, and Jason had to again wonder what was going on. First the sheets, now Dick... why was Dick in his room? His brother pushed his own covers aside, swinging around to sit on the edge of the bed. Jason blinked at him, bewildered, and then it started to come back to him, slowly, in pieces.

They were in a hotel room, somewhere near the Texas border, if he recalled correctly. Road trip... right, now he remembered. The sheets were so tight because that's how the hotels always prepared the beds, and he'd forgotten to pull them out all the way before falling asleep this time. That explained the nightmare.

Dick was still looking at him worriedly, then rose, went to their duffel bags by the door and pulled out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and walked back handing it to him. Jason made a face and pushed his hand away.

"'m fine."

"Have some water anyway," Dick nodded at him, annoyingly patient. "It's hot in here. You'll feel better." As if to prove his point, he took a long swallow too and held the bottle to him again. Jason sighed, but took it this time and drank. It helped a little.

"I'm fine," he repeated with a little less malice this time. "Seriously, Dick. My big brother doesn't need to get up every time I have a bad dream. It's stupid. 'm not five."

"It's not stupid," the older man objected, then tossed his cell on Jason's bed. Dick went to to pick up his jeans and a shirt. "I'm going to see if we an check out a little earlier. Be back in ten."

Ten minutes was too much time just for going to the front office and back, but Jason knew what he was not-so-subtly doing. He appreciated it, appreciated Dick not saying it out right and saving at least some of his pride. Leaning back onto the pillows, wide awake now, Jason picked up the abandoned phone and dialed 1 then send.

There was only one ring before... "Hello?"

The voice washed over him like a wave of warm air, wrapping around him like an embrace and finally Jason felt at peace.

"Hey, Dad."

"Jason." He couldn't detect any surprise in his father's voice, but then Bruce was the world's greatest detective. That and like Dick, he was helping him maintain some dignity. "How are you?"

"Okay." It was the truth now. At this moment, he was alright. "We're almost to Texas now."

"Yeah?" He thought he heard the smile in his voice.

"Dick's got his heart set on the Dallas. I'm just here for the Mexican food."

This time the amusement was unmistakable. "How's your brother?"

_Well, he's gotta put up with my crap, so I don't know_. But instead he said, "Fine. Hogging the wheel of _my_ new car."

"Is your new car still as... new as before?" The question was posed carefully.

"Nothing but fifteen hundred extra miles."

* * *

"_Are you sure this is it?" Bruce looked doubtfully at the blue-black Dodge Charger pulled up in front of Wayne manor. Next to him, eight-year-old Damian was also frowning, head tilted slightly in a perfect replica of his father's expression._

"_Yup!" Jason announced happily, leaning on the roof at the driver's side. "What d' you think?"_

_On the other side, Dick who had come with him to pick it up from the shady dealer on in the East End, simply shrugged at Bruce as if to say that he'd tried to talk him out of it. He had, but Jason had been adamant that _this_ was his car._

"_It's old," Damian piped in. "And beat up."_

_It was true. The shiny black paint was marked with chips, scratches, and dents that would have to be hammered out. The entire car would have to be repainted, the wheels changed. The air conditioning and radio were d.o.a.. Hell, from the sound of it, Jason might even have to replace parts of the engine._

_He didn't care._

"_It's a classic," he told his little brother. "I had my eye on this car since I was younger than you."_

_He didn't mention the fact that back then it was already well past its prime. It was a 1968 model which might have made it a classic in the right circles and if its previous owner had been from somewhere more affluent than the East End of Gotham. Damian wrinkled his nose in distaste._

"_Can't you afford anything better?"_

_Jason had to remind himself that Damian had no real concept of where he'd come from and how sensitive the subject of money could be in general. He might be Bruce Wayne's son, but he'd never forget the first twelve years of his life on the streets of Gotham. The fact was that back then this – specifically _this_ – car was what he dreamed off._

_Bruce put a hand on the boy's shoulder to stop him from speaking, but he was looking at Jason. "We can find something newer," he told Jason. "Or maybe you want the Infinity..."_

"_No, Dad," he shook his head. They just weren't getting it. "I don't want something new. I want something to..." He looked at his hands as if the right words would be there, and they were. "I want something to tinker with, to fix, and I _dreamed_ about this car since I was a kid."_

"_I'm just..." Bruce paused, eying said Dodge suspiciously. __He looked like he wanted to say that it didn't look safe, something Jason found hilarious, all things considered._

"_I already made him promise i__t won't leave the garage until it's fixed." Dick chimed in. "We're going all _Fast and the Furious_ on this thing."_

_Bruce shot him a look. "Not a comforting mental image."_

_Inwardly Jason rolled his eyes but on the surface he nodded helpfully. "Family project."_

_His father sighed, shaking his head. "If that's what you want. Let's get it into the garage."_

* * *

Jason yawned. The anxiety of the nightmare had ebbed, and now his body was remembering that it was one in the morning and he _was_ tired because they'd been driving all day. His father, hearing it, pauses the questions. They weren't really important. He just needed an excuse to hear his voice, and Bruce knew that.

"You should sleep." His father suggested mildly. "We can talk tomorrow."

He nodded, then on impulse asked, "You going out on patrol?"

t was a stupid question. Of course he was going. He always went. So Jason was a little surprised that there was almost a second-ling pause. Finally his father said, "Yes."

"Major case?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure yet."

"Care to share?"

"No." This time there was no hesitation. "I'm not going to give you more nightmares, Jason."

"That bad, huh?"

"I don't want you to think about it. Try to get some rest."

"Yeah." He knew once Bruce made up his mind there was little that could change it. "Night, Dad."

Jason almost added 'be careful' but that would have been redundant. He just repeated the 'good-night' and closed the phone, tossing it haphazardly on Dick's bed, before plopping face down onto the pillows of his own and turning off the bedside lamp.

The comforting warmth that he always felt during these calls was seeping away, but this time he was tired enough to at least attempt to go back to sleep. Jason kicked the covers completely off the bed. The air conditioner was going at full blast, but he didn't care. He couldn't be confined again, not even by a blanket, not tonight.

The door slowly open and Dick walk back in, but not really up for explaining himself, Jason pretended to sleep.

He awoke completely when the sun was bright in the window, far later than most of the time. The table by the door was covered in plates of bagels, two omelets, and bowls of fruit. The scent of bacon wafted passed his nose, and his stomach automatically growled.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty."

The door opened, out of the corner of his half-closed lids, he saw Dick come in caring two cups of coffee, one of which he sat on the table by the door. The mattress sank at the edge under his brother's weight, and he felt the heat of the coffee cup in front of his face. Jason wrinkled his nose and burred his face deeper in the pillow. Dick grinned and patted his back. It occurred to him that it similar to the way he used to wake Damian when they were running to Gotham.

"Up and at 'em, Little Wing. Long drive ahead."

"Time is it?" he groaned.

"Almost ten. Come on. I got breakfast."

"Ten?" Jason sat up and swung his legs over the edge just as Dick rose. "What happened to getting on the road early?"

"Jay," his brother gave him the kind of sympathetic look that made him want to punch him. "You were sleeping. Actually sleeping, not tossing and turning. Want to talk about it?"

"What?" By that time, Jason was already up and reaching for a plate of eggs and bacon. "Oh, the nightmare!" He snapped his fingers as if suddenly remembering. "That's right. You were in it. Something about... running around Gotham in your underwear. Pink panties, I think."

"They were green," Dick corrected without batting an eyelash. "You had a pair, and don't change the subject. If you don't want to talk about it..."

"I don't." Jason cut him off. "Not that you ever listen."

"Okay, fine, fine." Again, he's surprised and for some reason annoyed how easily Dick let the whole thing go. "Breakfast, then driving. It's your turn."

"No shit, since it's _my_ car."

"Grouchy." Dick popped a slice of bacon from his own plate with a grin. "Who logged all those hours helping you getting that piece of scrap road-worthy?"

"That's the only reason I ever let you pick the music."

"The driver picks the music." His brother objected. "Everyone knows that. It's a law of the universe. This universe, anyway."

"Oh, good," Jason finally grinned. "It's _Linkin Part_ time. Just downloaded the latest album."

"Joy." The first sign of annoyance finally flashed over Dick's face. "Heavy metal in the morning."

"Better than your old man eighties crap." Jason was about to correct him that _Linkin Park_ was not metal but thought better of it. "So what are we looking at in Dallas?"

"I'm thinking... White Rock Lake Park? They have bike trails, canoeing, hiking..."

"Are we on a road trip or are you reciting your online dating profile?"

Dick threw a piece of hash-brown at him. "Alright, well what do you want to do in Dallas?"

"Go to clubs, eat a lot of Mexican food, drink mojitos..."

He almost added 'go to gun ranges', but even at this distance it felt disrespectful. In preparation for his tenure as Robin, his father had taught him how to work with almost every conceivable weapon, including fire arms, no matter how distasteful he himself found them. And Jason had been good; he knew that. He also knew that Bruce had gone through the no-doubt emotionally painful exercise because he thought there was a chance the knowledge might one day save Jason's life.

It hadn't, but that was not really the point.

Until his return, Jason hadn't really understand why his father felt the way he did about fire arms. Alright, so Thomas and Martha Waynes had technically been killed by bullets from a gun, but then John and Mary Grayson had fallen to their deaths in the circus. That hadn't stopped Dick from jumping across rooftops at night or even returning to the trapeze every once in a while.

But now, years later, Jason finally understood.

It had taken seeing his father's face when he had a gun pointed at himself, but he understood.


	2. Part II

_**Author's Note:**_ Hey, guys, thanks for all the amazing support on these story. The first few chapters will be kind of a slow build, so bear with me. The plot is coming. Enjoy and please review!

* * *

Some days were better than others.

Dick learned that soon after his parents died that it would always be like that. Some days would be filled with memories and pain and you wouldn't be able to get away from them no matter how hard he tried. Other times – most of the time now for him – he could go on with his life fairly normally. He dealt better than Bruce, he knew that, but then Bruce never let himself heal from anything. Batman scraped that wound open each and every time because that's what Batman was about. Dick couldn't really say why Nightwing was different for him, but it was.

Jason's death ran perpendicular to the slash that his parents' murder had created on Bruce's spirit, bloody and raw. Though he never voiced it, Dick had a theory that somehow, in the end, people were capable of dealing with the death of their parents. It was expected. No, maybe not when you're eight, but eventually everyone's parents die. To lose a child was another matter entirely.

So when Jason came back, he'd remained in the manor for a while, watching both father and son closely. On the surface they seemed okay, but Dick quickly realized that few conversations went beyond the superficial. Jason didn't talk about his nightmares to anyone, and Bruce seemed afraid to push. It wasn't... bad, but the progress from the beginning had apparently gone stagnant. Sometimes Dick thought that their most honest interaction was when they simply sat quietly in the study.

That was part of the reason he'd suggested this trip.

* * *

"_So I have a thought."_

_Bruce looked up from his work computer. Work-work, not Batman-work, because Dick thought it might be a good idea to have this conversation in daylight hours at the office instead of at the manor where Jason – or Damian – could overhear. Bruce closed his laptop and looked at him expectantly._

"_A thought," Dick repeated, nervous for reasons he didn't understand. "I haven't been over to San Francisco in a while. Not since Tim started with the Titans, I think. Might be a good idea to drop in and say 'hi'. Garth and Raven at least should be there."_

_Bruce frowned, not understanding. "Are you... asking permission?"_

"_No... well, yeah, kind of." Dick took a breath. "I was thinking maybe Jason could come with me."_

_The older man's jaw imperceptibly tightened, and Dick knew he was probably thinking that over his dead body would anyone take his newly resurrected son across the country when he'd just gotten him back a few months ago. Completely understandable, all things considered, but Dick pressed on._

"_He's got to get out of the manor, Bruce," he said as plainly and honestly as he could. "And the Titans are a lot less scary than anyone rich and famous he'd have to make nice with as Jason, Bruce Wayne's long-lost son. You know I'm right."_

_Bruce took a deep breath, then rose, and came around to lean on the edge of the enormous desk, arms crossed. "I don't like it."_

"_I know, but you have to admit, he needs this. Part of the problem in the first place that he was always either with you or by himself. That's too much time to marinate in your own juices, especially for someone with his set of issues, and I know it's partially my fault because I wasn't there, but now he needs to interact with people his own age."_

"_So you're setting up a play date."_

_He did have to read his mind – a task he was good at anyway – to know that Bruce was not happy about this brilliant idea of his. But he hadn't outright said 'no' yet, which gave him hope._

"_I'll keep an eye on him," Dick swore. "Both eyes. And we'll call every single day. It'll be good for everyone, especially Jason. He can't be cooped up in the manor forever, you know that."_

"_I know." His face still looked dark. "But I don't know if the Titans are the best starting point. I..." Something else flashed across his face, a look Dick had seen so rarely that he almost didn't recognize it for what it was._

_Vulnerability._

_Bruce breathed in again slowly. "I don't want him encouraged to put on a mask again, Dick."_

As if he doesn't have that at home_, Dick thought but wasn't about to call him out on that particular piece of hypocrisy. He got where Bruce was coming from. He wasn't sure how he'd feel if Jason wanted to go out in the field again. Tim was out there, true, but even at several years younger, Tim had a maturity and levelheadedness to him that few others, especially Jason, possessed._

"_I'll look out for him," Dick promised again. "And at the first sign of anything remotely serious, we'll turn around and come back."_

* * *

Jason was studying the tablet intensely as they drove, fingers sliding over the screen as he scrolled through over a hundred gigabytes of music, picking a song and changing it just as quickly. It got on Dick's nerves, but he tried to hide it. He got that Jason was re-antiquating himself with the modern world, learning new bands and songs, but in Dick's opinion, he was taking this man-out-of-time thing a little too far.

He'd been gone for four years, not forty. Not exactly Captain America, and if Jason ever heard the reference from him, Dick was fairly sure he'd get his ass severely kicked. Tim had mentioned it once in passing and had received a murderous look in return. Of course, Jason didn't pick on people smaller than himself, especially kids, so Tim went on oblivious. Dick was still not entirely sure how his first brother felt about the current Robin. Out of uniform, as Tim himself, he liked the kid well enough, but more than once Dick had caught sad dark looks from Jason as he watched the boy mill around in the cave.

He was snapped out of his thoughts abruptly when _30 Seconds to Mars_' "Night of the Hunter" came blasting through the speakers. Taking his eyes off the road, he glared at his brother.

"You said driver picks the music."

"My car." Jason retorted. "And I'm tired of listening to _Crowded House_."

But he did turn the volume down somewhat before stretching out as much as he could. He'd grown taller, Dick noted, comparing the young man he saw now to the boy he remembered. But at nineteen, Jason's age was still hard to visually pin down due to the effects of both the Lazarus Pit and the resurrection itself and probably other factors he didn't want to think about.

After a stretch of silence, he spoke. "So who're we expecting at Teen Tower? Anyone I should actually care about?"

Dick bit back the response that he should care about everyone or something similar. "Garth and Raven are going to be there, but mostly it'll probably be new people. Conner Kent and Cassie Sandsmark and Bart Allen, Berry's grandson."

"Grandson?" Jason echoed.

"Time traveler," Dick explained briefly.

"Aha. And the other two? I'm guessing this Conner kid is Super-fill-in-the-blank, but who's the chick?"

"Cassie?" Dick hesitated suddenly not liking where this was going. "She's the new Wonder Girl."

He hoped Jason would leave it at that, but his brother frowned. "So what does Donna go by these days? Hey, is she gonna be there? 'Cause..."

With a surprised intake of breath from Jason, Dick pulled the wheel sharply to the right. Luckily it was that middle-of-no-where area so there were few cars around and no cops to complain. He drove the car to a stop on the side of the road and pulled the parking break. He sighed and turned to his brother.

Sometimes four years _could_ feel like forty.

Jason was quiet for the rest of the drive, and Dick figured the day was pretty much lost. He didn't try to elicit any enthusiasm from his brother regarding any local sights or attractions. When they checked into the hotel early and Jason dropped on the bed without a word, forearm thrown over his eyes, Dick wasn't surprised.

"I'm going to go scope out some food," he announced. "You wanted Mexican, right?"

"Whatever," Jason muttered.

Lips drawn in a thin line, Dick nodded. "Okay."

Then he was back in the car and driving until he hit the first plaza with a fast food Mexican place, but he didn't go in. Instead Dick found himself sitting in the car and fighting an incredible urge to bang his head against the steering wheel. Instead he pulled out his cell and called Tim.

Tim was easy to talk to. He went on about patrol and even school a little when Dick asked. He relaxed against the driver's seat of the Dodge, switching the cell to the other ear and listened as Tim talked about his friend Stephanie. When the subject switched to himself and Jason, Dick made a face and pinching the bridge of his nose told Tim what happened. The young teen listened for a long while without saying anything until the very end.

"I'm sorry," Tim was sympathetic. "That's rough. Did he know Donna well?"

"Not really," Dick admitted. "He worked with the Titans maybe twice at most. Though I think he might have developed a little bit of a crush on her."

Tim chuckled. "Insert joke about Robins and older women here."

"Right," Dick smiled but then grew somber again. "I don't know how I'm supposed to be with him. Am I supposed to walk on eggshells around him or ignore all the trigger points he has but I know nothing about until I open my big fat mouth?" He sighed for what felt like the millionth time. "Maybe this trip wasn't such a good idea..."

"No, it was," Tim said emphatically on the other end. "He can't stay in the manor forever. Damian at least has school. Jason's been kind of… stuck."

"I just..." Dick closed his eyes for a moment, hating what he was about to say next but knowing that it was the truth. "I don't know how to be his brother. I was an ass and flat out refused to do it the first time, so now..."

"Consider the fact," the young teen spoke seriously, "that he doesn't know how to be one either. Or," he corrected himself, "he doesn't know how to be the younger brother. He knows what it's like to look out for Damian, but someone's looking out for him... someone other than Bruce... that freaks him out."

"Why?" That was the part that Dick just couldn't understand. Why Jason couldn't just talk to him, and he had to get these pieces of psychological insights from someone else, someone junior them both.

"He needs to feel in control." He could just imagine Tim shrug on the other end. "He has a hard time trusting people, and can you seriously blame him after everything?"

No, of course he couldn't. Jason had been through more in his short nineteen years than most people could even begin to fathom and he had been alone for most of it. Logically Dick knew that this trip, getting back out in the world, was an important part of the healing process, but in moments like this he understood why Bruce felt that overwhelming urge to just keep Jason at the manor. Keep him safe.

"You're fine," Tim assured him. "Do what you're doing, and it'll all work out."

"Yeah?" Dick snorted. "How do you know?"

"Because you _are_ a good brother," Tim replied with conviction. "And he needs you. He told you as much, didn't he?"

"That was a moment of post-massive blood loss weakness."

"Those tend to bring out the most honesty in people."

Dick laughed. "Especially us. Alright, kid, I'll let you go. Thanks for the pep-talk."

"Any time," he heard the smile in Tim's voice. "Oh, when do you think you guys will get to San Francisco? I want to fly in."

"I'll let you know when we get closer." Dick promised. "We're not exactly driving straight through everything, so it might be another week or so."

"Sure, no worries."

When he returned to the hotel room, Jason was up and looking a little more alert than before. The tablet was angled at forty-five degrees on the stand and a movie or show was playing, but he turned it off as soon as Dick entered. He held up a paper menu like it was a peace offering.

"I found a good Mexican food place, if you want to get out of the room," he declared.

Jason was easy to win over with food, and while he wasn't Mr. Sunshine when they left the hotel, he instantly perked up when they got to the small restaurant and the waiter set a complementary bowl of tortilla chips and salsa on the checkered green table cloth in front of them. His younger brother happily dug in, and Dick immediately ordered a side of guacamole. Another waiter came a few minutes later with a cart piled with bowls full of all kinds of ingredients and one giant bowl of fresh avocados.

"Mojitos?" Jason raised a brow expectantly as the man began to mix the guac right in front of their table.

"The virgin kind." Dick shot him a nice-try look. "You're nineteen, Jay, and I'm not participating in the corruption of minors."

"You're not p..." Jason repeated with a frown, then shook his head as if to clear it. "Nevermind. You get hammered. I'll drive."

To make Jason happy, Dick did end up ordering a mojito. And then another. And another. By the fourth he thought that maybe it was a good idea for Jason to do the driving after all. He told him this seemingly profound thought at which point Jason put his head down on the table and laughed.

"Ya think?" he quirked a smile when he finally looked up. "'Cause I'm thinking we should walk to the hotel, pick up the car in the morning, and maybe hang out here the rest of tomorrow. On account you being hung over most likely. Wouldn't want you to puke all over my car."

Dick gave a very offensive-sounding snort. "That piece of crap?"

"I'm going to let that one go since you reek." His brother waved the waiter over. "Can we get some water over here?"


	3. Part III

_**Author's Note:**_ So the next two chapters are going to be full of pop-culture references. Character's opinions are their own... well, those I think would be in-character for them anyway. I figure pop culture is a good bonding point for otherwise very different family members. Also how are the flashbacks working out for you guys? They won't continue throughout the whole fic, but there were so many little stories I wanted to tell in that 6 months gap between the two fics that I figured this is a good way to do it. Also if you're tracking this fic on AO3, I'll be adding character tags as they enter the story. Enjoy and please review!

* * *

Tim would have never voiced it aloud, but a part of him knew he was one of the more stable members of the Bat-clan, and he suspected it was because for him, being Robin had always been a choice. Yes, technically it was true for Dick and Jason as well; Bruce had never forced either into the roll, but then the billionaire himself was not forced to be Batman. For the three of them, the masks had been put on for one reason or another but ultimately it had come down to managing personal demons.

And Tim? Tim didn't really have those issues, at least not nearly to that extent. Becoming Robin had been a choice made purely out of desire to help Batman, and he loved it, but he was perfectly okay with doing normal civilian things. His parents had been away frequently when he was younger, but now after the murder of Janet Drake, his own temporary paralysis and recovery, Jack seemed determined to spend as much time with his son as possible. The fact that he knew the Robin aspect of Tim's life had been terrifying at first. His father had been anything but thrilled, but ultimately it worked out.

More or less...

So when Dick and Jason went off on their cross-country bonding road trip, and Bruce spent a large amount of time at Watchtower on a JLA mission, Tim hadn't minded the time off to just be on his own, get ahead on homework, and do something as pointless as going to a game with his dad. Then, of course, there was this...

The bedroom window rattled a little, but Tim merely raised a quizzical brow at it. He was on the second floor and it was barely dusk outside. Closing the multi-variable calculus text book over his notepad, he rose and went to the window. Pulling up the sliding section of the pane, he tried not to roll his eyes as he helped the boy onto the ledge.

"I have a front door, you know," he told Damian.

"I know that," the eight-year-old glared.

"But you're 'son of Batman' so you think this way is cooler," Tim grinned. "Come on in."

Damian hopped onto the floor tracking some twigs and dry leaves in his wake. Tim tried not to wince at the thought of the housekeeper asking questions. He made a mental note to clean it up later, and simultaneously the boy kicked off his shoes. Localized mess aside, he was particular about not wearing the shoes in the house. He wondered if it was a product of the culture he'd been raised in so far.

"Does..." Tim was about to ask if Bruce knew where his eight-year-old was but then remembered that Batman was with the JLA tonight. "Did you tell Alfred you were planning on coming here?"

"No," the boy looked up at him. "I've never had to tell the servants were I went before."

Tim felt like slapping his forehead but resisted. Another culture or status issue. Damian _knew_ Alfred was more than just a butler, but old habits were harder to break. Tim went back to his desk and pulled out his cell. He tossed it to the boy.

"Call Alfred." He told him. "Because if you don't, he'll worry, and then he'll call your dad, and then _he'll_ worry. See how that works?"

Damian didn't look happy about it, but he dialed the manor anyway. It only took moment before he hung up again, but Tim felt a little less like a kidnapper. The boy unceremoniously tossed the phone back on the bed, trotted over to Tim's desk chair and easily hopped up, sitting cross legged. Again Tim tried not to be annoyed.

"So what's up?" He sat down on the bed. "Shouldn't you be... I don't know... doing homework or something? It's a school night."

"I do homework _at_ school." Damian told him. "Classes are boring. My tutors covered all that a long time ago. I really don't see why Father makes me go to school at all when I can just read at the library at home."

"He makes you go so you can grow up to be a socially healthy, well-rounded individual." Tim said pleasantly, though he couldn't help but feel the slight hypocrisy of it. Bruce was more than comfortable navigating Gotham's – and national – social circles, but it was largely due to his acting skills. "Don't you want to be around kids your own age?"

"No," Damian all-but pouted. "When are Jason and Dick coming back?"

"Depends on if they're driving or flying back. Anywhere from a couple weeks to a month and a half or so."

That response appeared to make the boy even less happy. Considering Jason was the person Damian was closest to, his reaction wasn't surprising. Tim remembered being that age when a month seemed like forever.

"Look, I know you wish Jason was here and that I'm not your favorite person in the world, but how about you hang out with me?" He offered. "At least till your dad gets back. Want some snacks? I can still make a killer strawberry milkshake, and I was going to get an early start on a _Star Wars_ weekend marathon."

It was a little lie, but he had the time and _Star Wars_ was a good default, especially since he suspected it would be a new experience for Damian. That suspicion was confirmed when the boy frowned and asked.

"What's _Star Wars_?"

"Only the greatest sci-fi movie series of all time." Tim grinned. "And I'm making you watch them in chronological order. If Dick and Jason tell you the new series is bad, don't listen to them. You can't appreciate the whole mythology as much if you don't watch them. It's just the main actor in episodes II and III that sucks."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Damian glared at him, a sure sign that he was embarrassed about not knowing something but trying to hide it with scorn.

"That's fine." The teen was undeterred. "You'll love them. I promise. Want to go down for that milkshake now?"

Sitting at the kitchen table with a laptop, Jack Drake only raised a brow when two boys instead of one came down the stairs. He knew who Damian was of course. The boy's face has been plastered on every newspaper across the country for weeks after he and Jason made it home. Speculation was rampant, especially on the question of Damian's maternity, and some less reputable newspapers printed all sorts of drivel. None of it was ever explicitly baned from Wayne Manor, but Bruce certainly didn't encourage either Jason or Damian to look.

"Hi there," Jack smiled kindly at the younger boy, then looked at Tim questioningly. "Are you baby-sitting?"

Damian opened his mouth, no doubt to say something to the effect of he was not a baby and didn't need looking after, but Tim quickly answered.

"I'm keeping Damian company while his dad is away on... business."

The last part was deliberately generic, but the pause made it clear that the kind of 'business' Bruce was away on had nothing to do with board rooms. Although Jack was on good terms with Dick and coolly cordial with Bruce, the 'B' and 'R' words were generally not spoken of in the Drake households.

* * *

"_I know that look, kid."_

_Tim blinked. He'd been sitting on one of the enormous metal tool drawers in the garage that had been set aside for Jason's car renovation. Even now the older teen was bent over the open hood of the blue-black Dodge, wrench firmly clasped in one grease stained hand. He didn't even look up when he spoke, and Tim fidgeted._

"_Look? There's no look."_

"_Oh there's a look. It's the emotionally-constipated I-have-angst one. I think my dad invented it."_

"_He's gotten better," Tim objected._

"_Yeah," Jason agreed finally looking up from the engine. "At least at home. So what's your angst? School? Girls? What?"_

"_Dad."_

"_Ah, I know that one too."_

_He placed the wrench on the edge of the metal shell and picked up a towel to wipe his hands. Tim knew he had his undivided attention now, though he didn't really want to talk about things he barely understood himself. However he and Jason rarely talked about non-trivial things, so perhaps it was a good opportunity to get some insight from the former Robin. He took a deep breath._

"_My dad knows about the whole... nightlife thing," he began. "We don't really talk about it, but he knows. When I'm on patrol he pretends _not_ to stay up at night waiting for me, but when I get back I usually find him downstairs pretending to be asleep at the TV. I make some noise upstairs so he knows I got home safely, and a few minutes later I hear him finally go to bed."_

"_And..." Clearly Jason wasn't seeing the problem._

"_And then in the morning we have breakfast as usual. And that... sucks."_

_Jason crossed his arms. "What's your alternative?"_

"_I don't know!" It came out harsher than Tim had intended. He instantly backpedaled. "I mean, I don't know anyone who balances the mask with family when said family knows about said mask. I never thought I'd say this, but it was almost easier when he didn't know. Then the worst problem I had was figuring out how to sneak in and out."_

_Jason was silent for a long moment, lips pressed together in a thin line. Tim was waiting for some kind of deep insight. The older teen had worn the mantel of Robin for over three years. He must have found some kind of balance. So when he finally spoke, Tim was shocked at the words that came out._

"_So basically you're bitching because your old man actually cares about you."_

"_I..."_

"_You wanna hear about what your patrol nights look like for me?" he interrupted, voice dripping with angry sarcasm. "I try to pretend I'm asleep, but I know my dad comes in and checks on me and then Damian every single time before he goes out. He reads to him for a bit. Then, when he's gone, I get up and go sit in Damian's room, because half the nights he wakes up with nightmares because he doesn't know if his dad's coming back."_

_Tim was sure his mouth was hanging open. He'd never thought about what it might be like for Bruce's sons. He knew Jason had issues on the Robin front which was why he hesitated to bring it up at all when he was around, but he thought it was getting better. But this wasn't about Robin at all, he realized. This really was about the broader issue of being a civilian with a hero in the family and having full knowledge of the dangers your loved one faced__._

"_I__f you want me to feel sorry for you that you're a little _inconvenienced_ by your dad's worry, you're barking up the wrong tree, kid." __His predecessor gave him a look. __"Put up, or shut up."_

* * *

Jason had been right, of course. He had to learn to live with the concern or set aside the mantle. The latter was not an option, but days off like this helped with the former. When he was at home for several nights in a row, Tim could see his dad visibly relax little by little.

Damian thoughtfully sipped his milkshake, his eyes firmly glued to the screen where a young Anakin Skywalker was speeding through the canyons of Tatooine on his race pod. Sitting on the couch next to him, Tim figured one movie before the weekend couldn't hurt. At one point though he was seriously weirded out when the boy turned to him and, completely guileless, pointed at Qui-Gon Jinn on the screen.

"He looks like my grandfather," he declared.

The teen raised a brow. "I thought you told Jason you never met Ra's."

"I've seen photos." Damian shrugged and returned his attention to the television.

All in all, Tim thought it was going well. Damian looked like he liked the movie. Maybe he didn't show all the outward excitement one might expect from a typical eight-year-old's first viewing of a _Star Wars_ film, but then he rarely did that around anyone other than Jason. Tim had another thought that maybe this would win him some points with the former Robin, until he remembered the kinds of things that went on in episodes II and III and suddenly starting with the prequel trilogy didn't seem like such a fantastic idea. Maybe Damian _wouldn't_ notice Shmi Skywalker's horrible demise or the main character slaughtering a bunch of little kids and then nearly burning to death...

_Yeah, that'll happen_.

"Speaking of pictures," he said by way of distraction when the credits began to roll on the first film, "you wanna see something super top secret?"

No kid could ever resist being let in on a secret, and Damian eagerly followed him back up the stairs. Tim shut the door behind them and for even more dramatic effect, closed all the curtains. The boy was waiting in the middle of the room while Tim rummaged under a floor board in the closet. A moment later he emerged, holding up a small shoe box triumphantly.

"What's that?" Damian looked over his shoulder.

"These," Tim grinned, "are how I figured out who Batman and Robin were. I was just a year older than you."

"Impossible." The boy crossed his arms skeptically. "My father would never be that careless."

"He wasn't careless." Tim sat down cross-legged on the floor with the precious box in his lap. "I was just really good. Check this out."


	4. Part IV

_**Author's Note:**_ Like I said, lots of pop culture references here. I knew that if I did a squeal for "The Changeling" it would have certain elements – in fact decisions I made in the previous fic are reflected here – but the actual idea for the road trip came from a show I got into last December ;) Anyway, plot is coming. By the end of the next chapter you'll know what case Bruce is working on, the time frame this fic takes place in and what's going on everywhere else. As with all my other ones, this story will be from the bat-family pov and will reflect what's going on in the outside world through their eyes. Enjoy and please review!

* * *

So maybe Dick wasn't completely off base. White Rock Lake Park turned out to be quiet and peaceful on the late Sunday afternoon, and Jason was perfectly fine taking a nice leisurely walk on the path that ran around the perimeter of the lake. After a few hours, they found a picnic table on the shore. Dick pulled out two bottles of water and some sandwiches, while Jason simply sat and stared out at the lake. The sound of water was enough to drown out the noise from the few other people there.

And suddenly he felt his vision shift, and it was as if he was no longer looking onto the Dallas city lake but another body of water, much bigger and more violent. He was no longer sitting on the bench, but instead there was soil underneath him. The sunset was the same, but it wasn't his brother he was with.

_There's a woman beside him. A woman in a simple lavender summer dress. Her long dark hair is loose as the salty wind blows through it. She's beautiful, Jason knows, but also incredibly sad. She speaks to him in a hushed tone, and though he cannot respond or even make out what she says, suddenly he feels tears running down his cheeks at the sound of her words. Her arm wraps around his shoulders, and he feels warm._

Jason blinked. What the hell was that?

He looked across the picnicking table at his brother, but Dick didn't appear to have noticed his lapse in concentration. He was people-watching, idly taking sips from his water bottle every once in a while. Jason wondered if he should say something but quickly descended against it. Dick had enough reasons to question his stability without encouragement.

"So where are we off to tomorrow?" he asked instead.

"Yeah." His brother turned away from the passerbys and focused on him again. "Feel free to say 'no', but if you're as sick of takeout and hotels as I am, I thought we'd head north through Oklahoma and into Kansas."

"What's in Kansas?" Jason frowned and almost immediately answered his own question. "Smallville? You wanna visit the Kent farm?"

"Why not?" Dick shrugged. "We'll get out of the city, see nice people, get a few home-cooked meals, and sleep in some place other than a hotel. Totally up to you, though."

"No, it's not a bad idea." Jason turned it over in his head. "Mrs. K's pies _are_ legendary. I assume we're not telling Dad?"

His brother grinned. "He's been over at the farm for dinner before."

"No way!"

"Yeah!" Dick laughed. "Where do you think Alfred got so many new recipes?"

"Alright, I'm convinced." Jason took a bite of his sandwich. "As long as they don't try any of those well-meaning-but-annoying interrogations."

"They'll probably just want to know how everyone back in Gotham is." Dick assured him. "You know the Kents are like... the nicest people in the world."

"Awesome. Should we call or just randomly show up tomorrow?"

"Eh, let's randomly show up. We can pick up a bottle of wine or cider and some flowers on the way and all will be forgiven." Dick popped a potato chip into his mouth. "I think the only thing we have to do tonight is get home base on the phone and let them know we'll off the grid for a few days."

"Sounds good to me."

When they returned to the hotel in the evening, Jason was admittedly disappointed when Alfred told him that Bruce was up at Watchtower, but he was downright angry when he found out that Damian wasn't home either by eleven in the evening Gotham time. Hearing that he was over at the Drake house made for little comfort, but Dick was already dialing Tim. Within moments they had a secure video chat system up and Damian's face was looking back at them.

"Hey, buddy." Dick was smiling, and Jason had to shoulder him slightly so that they would both be in the frame. "What's new back home?"

"Father's away," he said immediately and Jason didn't miss the small pout in his voice.

"He's at Watchtower with the League," Jason told his little brother before Dick could chime in with some kind of watered-down version. "And considering he's with a bunch of people he doesn't always like, trust me when I say he'd much rather be back home with you, little D."

Damian looked little appeased, and Jason wondered for the hundredth time just how bad of a case of abandonment issues the kid was probably growing up with. He got Bruce's control-freak nature and from their talk a few nights ago, clearly something important was going on. But if he'd known their father would be off-world during this little road-trip, Jason didn't think he would have agreed to go.

"Tim's been keeping you company though," Dick put in. "What've you guys been up to?"

"He showed me his Batman and Robin photos," the boy replied. "And we watched _Star Wars_. It was good."

"Which _Star Wars_?" Jason's brow furrowed.

"The first one."

"That doesn't help, kiddo."

"The one with the boy and the pod racer."

At that, Jason turned sharply towards Dick and glared. "_Your_ Robin is corrupting _my_ little brother!" He turned back to the computer and Damian's image on the screen. "Repeat after me, D: the prequel trilogy sucks. And don't you dare tell me you want to be Anakin Skywalker."

"Why not?" the boy asked earnestly. "I thought he was cool."

"That's it!" Jason threw up his hands dramatically. "I'm coming back to Gotham."

"Really?" Damian looked genuinely excited for the first time in the conversation.

"We'll be back in a bit, Damian." Now it was Dick's turn to throw him a good-job-Jay look. "You might not be able to get in touch with us for a few days while we're in Kansas, but we'll call again as soon as we have a good signal. Save the original trilogy for us, okay? "

"And remember we still have _Lord of the Rings_ to get through," Jason added.

Reading to Damian had been something he'd begun back when he'd first met the boy while a captive in one of the al Ghul Eastern European bases. It mostly came as the only activity Jason could think of to do with the kid. There was no computer or television he could find in the mansion, but the library rivaled that of Wayne Manor, and though he was many grade levels ahead of his peers, like most kids, Damian liked to be read to. Jason remembered looking up at the massive bookshelves and not believing that with all the tomes in a multitude of languages – only a fraction of them English – there wasn't even a single copy of Sherlock Holmes.

He'd been overjoyed to find an old beat-up paperback of _The Hobbit._ Jason swore to himself if he saw another book in that boy's hands that weighed more than he did, he'd find Talia and tell her how he really felt about her _amazing_ parenting style. While Damian was at first resistant to the _children's_ story, Jason had convinced him to give it a shot and it had been smooth sailing from there save for one thing...

* * *

"_We need a copy of _The Hobbit_," Jason declared standing in the doorway of his father's study._

_Damian loitered a few steps behind him, still not entirely comfortable in Bruce's presence. He may have been the only biological child, but after only a week at the manor there was clearly a long way to go._

_Bruce, at the moment standing by his own book case, blinked. "I read that as a kid."_

"_Yup, and we were just about to find out what the dragon's weakness was when," Jason thought of the gentlest way of phrasing things was, "we lost the book. Ergo we need another one 'cause Smaug ain't slayin' himself."_

"_It's..." their father actually looked a bit uncomfortable. "It's up in the attic."_

"_Ah."_

_The attic was the antithesis of the cave._

_Most of Bruce's things childhood items – toys, children's books, games, etc – had been migrated there shortly after the Wayne murders. It was a place Jason ventured once when he first arrived at the manor, but Dick had warned him away from it after that. Impulse told Jason to do the opposite, but the look on Bruce's face when he found out was enough for Jason not to repeat the venture._

_Damian, quick to pick up on the tension in the room, looked to him. "What's in the attic?"_

"_Narnia," Jason replied in the same tone he'd used when he told Damian kids came from the circus. His brother blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "Oh, you're kidding! You see?" He turned to their father. "No classical education whatsoever."_

"_I had classical education." Damian objected. "I read the Odyssey in ancient Greek."_

_Jason felt his face twitch. "Dad..."_

"_Okay," Bruce held up both hands in placation. "I'll... see if I can find my copy. If not, we'll go into the city and pick up some books."_

_Give Dad credit_, Jason thought bemused. _He actually braved the attic for us._

* * *

After he and Damian had finished reading all about Bilbo Baggins, it was their father who had started on _Lord of the Rings_ with him. For a book that was all about wraiths and generally non-eight-year-old-friendly stuff, Jason figured it was still a good transition point. He'd sat in on a few of their early scions, but when the car came he used fixing her up as an excuse to deck out. It wasn't that he didn't like the book or was really ever pressed for time, but Jason wanted them to bond without looking to him all the time. He'd only agreed to go on this road trip after he was sure both father and son would be okay without him.

He felt better after talking to Damian and less like he was abandoning the kid by being electronically unreachable. Dick was driving again when they left Dallas, but that was fine with him. There was nothing to see for miles as they crossed into Oklahoma, so Jason pulled out the tablet and ear buds and thanked some higher power that he didn't get car sick. He had six more seasons to get through.

Dick, never one for long stretches of silence, gave him a sideways look. "Should I even ask?"

"What?" He pulled out the left bud.

"Do I want to know what you're watching?"

"Rounding out season three of Supernatural," Jason replied without skipping a beat.

Dick laughed. "Supernatural? Seriously? Is that show still on?"

"Yeah, it's great!" he grinned. "There's a cool car, lots of action, some blood and guts and repressed emotions. You know, things we can all relate to. Oh, and one of the main characters is about to be dragged off into hell, but I'm pretty sure he'll be back. There are at least six more seasons."

"I... vaguely know that." Dick admitted.

"Cool," Jason nodded once, put his ear bud back in, but paused before hitting play. He took it out again. "And just so we're clear, I'm Dean and you're Sam."

Dick snorted, barely bothering to take his eyes off the long stretch of road to give Jason a weary look, but he played along. "Explain to me why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He paused, because, yes, it _was_ that obvious. When his brother didn't answer, Jason helpfully supplied: "I'm the moody volatile one who won't talk about his feelings and covers up everything with sarcasm, and you're… the other one."

"I'm older than you," Dick pointed out reasonably, but he was fighting a smile.

"Well, I'm not playing this game with Damian," Jason frowned. "You know what happens in the first episode? The kids' mother gets killed by a freakin' demon. You know how? She burns to death. I'm thinking it might be just a tad disturbing for an eight-year-old who still thinks the same thing happened to his mom."

Now there was a few real moments of quiet, all playful humor suddenly sucked out of the car. He had shared with Dick and Bruce that Talia had not only survived the fire that had allowed him to escape with Damian, but that she had indeed set the blaze to give herself deniability. That was all well and good, but Damian still thought his mother was dead, a necessity that Dick and Jason especially had trouble swallowing, no matter what they thought of the woman.

"Maybe the solution," the older man finally suggested, "is to get into pop-culture shows that are not as gory and violent. Haven't you had enough of that?"

"Something age appropriate for an eight-year-old," Jason rolled his eyes. "Maybe Barney or Teletubbies. Talk about disturbing."

"Jay, he's eight, not four."

"Hey, I told you I was the moody sarcastic one."

Another moment of silence followed, and Jason was just about to go back to the tablet, but then Dick smirked.

"What?" He looked back at him.

"Tim," his brother said simply. "Tim is Sam."


	5. Part V

_**Author's Note:**_ This is the chapter where you find out one of the two canon events I'll be using for the background of this story. Also Jason's dream/vision from last chapter was _not_ about Donna. Sorry, guest reviewer. That scene was taken from something canon. More in the author's end note. Enjoy and please review!

* * *

"You boys should have called ahead!"

Mrs. Kent greeted them literally with open arms. Dick hugged her back enthusiastically and shook hands with Jonathan Kent when the man stepped out onto the porch right behind his wife. Jason was still closer to the car, a wrapped bottle of cider in one hand. Again, the parallels between himself and Damian were not lost on the youth. He wasn't exactly hiding behind his big brother… but it was close.

"Call it a family habit," Dick was grinning as Jason stepped up next to him. "We love the element of surprise and all. But just to prove we weren't _really_ raised in a cave…" He pulled out the bouquet and presented it to Martha.

"You're so sweet, Richard." She smiled and took the flowers. Then she looked past Dick at him. "And you must be Jason. It's so good to finally meet you. Come inside, both of you. I just put the roast in the oven."

Jason followed, set a little bit more at ease when Jonathan affectionately patted him on the back and closed the door behind everyone. If there was a quintessential country farm kitchen, he had no doubt that it was this one. Everything was so... the only word that Jason could think of was 'quaint'... down to the rough wooden table and chairs to the obvious-handmade needlework.

In some way it reminded him of the little Eastern European inn he and Damian stumbled on after the fire that lead to their escape. Jason pushed the memory aside.

"I smell peach," he declared indicating the towel-covered pie in the middle of the table. Jason could practically feel the heat rising off of it.

"Not until after dinner," Mrs. Kent warned sternly.

"Oh, we know the rules," Dick flashed her his most charming smile. "We live with Alfred."

"That man is a saint," Jonathan filled a vase with water at the sink and set it in front of his wife so that she could put the bouquet. "How is he?"

"Still holding our crazy house together."

"And your father?" Martha looked at Jason this time, her expression warm and encouraging.

"He's..." Jason tried to find something other than it's-complicated to say.

"He's a lot better since Jay and Damian got home," Dick came to his rescue.

"That's right." Jonathan reached up to the pantry to pull out a stack of plates, and Jason quickly went to help the old man. He nodded his thanks and the two of them walked back to the table. "Clark told us about the new little one. And everything you did to bring him home."

"Dad doesn't gossip," Jason said a little defensively. There was an image in his head of Bruce sitting around a table at Watch tower with the other League members discussing their family that looked so utterly wrong he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Dick gave him a look, but luckily the Kents didn't seem to notice.

"Of course not." Martha assured him. "Clark simply asked if there was any truth to what was printed in the papers. Bruce said 'no', gave him the general story, and everything was left at that. We know how private your father is, Jason. We respect it."

The teen felt his cheeks redden a bit. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Jonathan assured him. "Sit down and tell us more about your new little brother while that roast finishes cooking."

That immediately brought a smile to Jason's face. He was always proud of Damian and was more than happy to tell them all about how at eight years old, the boy was fluent in at least five languages he knew of and how despite growing up with a fancy palate, he loved it when they made hamburgers on the home barbecue. The Kents listened with knowing smiles.

"Do you have any pictures?" Martha asked. "Those black and whites in the papers don't do anyone justice."

Jason looked at Dick, who nodded. "I think I we have a few on our phones. Jay, wanna go grab the tablet so we can transfer them over on a bigger screen?"

After a few minutes of fiddling with USB cables, batting hands away, and trying to find a good way of explaining to Mr. Kent how the 'magic screen' works, they finally put threw a few family photos in a folder and propped it up on the table. Jason swiped his finger across the screen every few seconds to scroll the pictures, pausing whenever someone pointed out a particularly interesting photo.

"Was this a family function?" Martha inquired about a photo of their first outdoor lunch in the gardens behind Wayne Manor. "And is that your father smiling?"

"Yeah," Dick grinned. "Getting that picture was like hunting skittish animals; you have to be patient and catch them unawares."

"He doesn't ask, so we don't tell." Jason nodded in agreement. He continued scrolling until they reached a series of photos of Damian exploring his new room. He looked at Dick. "Did you just follow him around with a camera all of that day?"

His brother shrugged. "Pretty much."

"Handsome fellow." Jonathan adjusted his glasses. "Does he look like your dad? I can't quite tell with these lenses."

Dick replied with a "Yes" immediately, and Jason opened his mouth but then paused. Everyone said Damian looked like their father, but then a lot of people did so without really paying attention or, worse, because they wanted something from Bruce and were trying to suck up. He looked at the picture again, squinting.

"He really doesn't," he muttered mostly to himself, but then felt all eyes suddenly fall on him. Jason sighed. "Well, he doesn't. He's got Dad's eyes, his hair... kind of. Everything else... that's all his mom with a shade lighter skin tone."

Dick was looking back at him, and God damn it but how Jason hated that look, the one that once again seemed like it dripped with pity. It seemed like everyone – Dick, Alfred, even his dad – gave him that same look whenever the topic of Talia came up. Like it wasn't just Damian who had been abandoned...

* * *

_Even in his half-asleep state, Jason heard the door softly swish open. His eyes slowly opened. Momentarily disoriented by a room not his own, he quickly remembered that he'd been reading to Damian and concluded that they must have both fallen asleep. The index finger of his left hand was still wedged between the pages as a bookmark while the boy's head rested on the bicep of his outstretched right arm. Damian was sound asleep._

_The door whose opening had initially woken him was slowly closing shut again, but Jason's vision cleared enough to catch a glimpse of the tall broad silhouette. He rose an inch, careful not jostle Damian too much._

"_Dad?"_

_There was a pause in the doorway, but then it opened again and their father took a step inside._

"_I didn't mean to wake you."_

"_'s okay."_

_Jason carefully closed the book, put it on the nightstand, and detangled himself from his little brother. Damian made a small grunt of disapproval, but buried his face in the pillow and was asleep again instantly. The teen slid out of the bed and tucked the sheets around the boy before following Bruce into the hallway and quietly closing the door behind him._

"_Sorry," he said. "We were reading. Must have lost track of time."_

_Bruce smiled. "Slay that dragon yet?"_

"_Yup," Jason grinned then, noting his father's still-house attire, frowned. "What time is it, anyway? Are you going out on patrol?"_

"_Not tonight," Bruce confessed. "I... need to talk to you."_

"_This sounds ominous."_

_His frown deepened, and for the first time Jason noticed the two envelopes in his father's hand. One had been opened, a peace of cream-colored paper was peaking out, while the other appeared to be still sealed. Bruce gestured with his head towards his study, and Jason followed. His father closed the door firmly behind him once they were both inside then wordlessly handed Jason the unopened envelope._

_Jason flipped it over, but there were no addresses; no return and not even one for it to be sent to Wayne Manor. It had been delivered personally, he realized, and judging by the elegant script in the center that spelled his own name, Jason knew exactly who had brought it._

"_Is this a joke?" It was all Jason could do not to let his anger boil over and crush the paper in his hand._

"_No." His father held up his own letter. "I got one, too."_

"_Did she send one to Damian?" Jason demanded, even though he already knew the answer._

"_No."_

"_Then you can have mine back." He angrily tossed the unopened envelope on his father's desk. "Read it. Burn it. I don't care."_

"_Jason..."_

"_No, how messed up is this?" He felt his voice rise and fought to keep it in check. Damian was sleeping just a few doors away. "I get that she wrote to you, but why me? I'm nobody. What could she possibly have to say to me when she won't even let her own son know she's alive."_

"_You're not nobody," Bruce said severely, then his face softened. "_We're_ choosing not to tell him, Jason. She left that choice to us – to me – and we're making it every day. I don't know that it's right..."_

"_It's not!" The teen interrupted. "But what good is it to tell him if she's not here? Is he _supposed_ to know his mom abandoned him?"_

"_I don't think that's what she did. From what you told me..."_

"_Why are you defending her?!" Jason exploded. "I don't buy that bullshit about Ra's for a second. It's not like she's never gone against him before. It's not like we haven't fought him before. If she wanted to be here, she'd be here."_

"_She's doing what she thinks is best for Damian. For both of you, really."_

"_Oh, no." Jason was on his feet in a second. "Don't you _dare_ drag me into this, old man. Don't pretend I figure in any way into her twisted logic. I was a means to an end, a way of getting Damian to Gotham. Nothing more than that."_

_He took a deep breath, sending one last glare at the offensive letter still on the edge of his father's desk, then stalked towards the door. His hand was half way to the knob when his father caught his shoulder. Jason spun, half-ready to continue the argument, but the older man simply held up the envelope._

"_I won't read it," he told him evenly but firmly. "And if you want it destroyed, you'll have to do it yourself. Whatever you decides, make sure it's a choice you don't later regret, Jason."_

* * *

He was grateful that the conversation in the Kent kitchen had shifted away from anything Gotham and really didn't care if everyone else in the room knew how uncomfortable he was. Jason was perfectly happy to quietly pick at the pork roast and drink the warm cider while Dick chatted with the Kents about Bludhaven and his job, and he thought they looked pleased that he had something as ordinary as a police uniform.

They talked about their own son, and again it was nothing 'super', just stories from the Daily Planet and Lois Lane and other mundane things. Jason thought he'd never heard so many ordinary things about the most powerful being on the planet in his life, but it was clear that to the Kents he was no different than any other son might be to his parents.

He gratefully accepted the generous slice of pie Mrs. Kent put on his plate and took a bite.

"Mmm!" This time Jason didn't have to exaggerate his enthusiasm. "Mrs. K, this is amazing! Any chance the recipe's not top secret so we can bring it back to Alfred?"

"Of course, dear." She smiled and got up to pull out the paper from her recipe box.

Dick grinned at him. "Good thinking. Maybe we can get him to make it when Bruce is actually home for a night. It's cause for celebration enough."

Jason grinned back, but Jonathan Kent's brows furrowed.

"Your dad's up there?" He pointed upward, most likely indicating the orbiting Watchtower. "I guess he's probably on the same case our Clark is."

"I know he's... working with the League on something." Jason nodded. The last time he'd asked, Bruce refused to say anything, and he'd let it drop.

"They're all working on something," Jonathan nodded sagely. "Mrs. Dibny's killin'."

"Wait..." It was Dick's turn to frown, all earlier smiles washed away in an instant. "Sue Dibny? Ralph's wife? She was murdered."

The Kents exchanged a look.

"You didn't know," Martha said slowly returning to the table.

"No." Dick shook his head. "We just knew Bruce's been up at watch tower's a lot lately. He didn't tell us anything."

"Then you didn't hear of it from us," Jonathan said, "but... yeah. Clark told us a few days ago when he came to check on us. Far as I know, the whole League's trying to figure out what happened."

"That's terrible. I know they've been together for... pretty much forever." Dick sighed. He looked down at his glass, then at Jason. "At least now we know why he's been away."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's a great comfort to Damian," Jason shot back dryly. He felt bad that someone was dead, but really, he didn't know the Dibnys. Martha reached over and patted his hand.

"If anyone can get it all sorted out, it's your dad," she assured him. "He'll find whoever's responsible and will be home in no time. They don't call him the greatest detective for nothing."

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ _Identity Crisis_ is coming! With my own twists, of course ~_^ Mwahaha! The two letters that Bruce and Jason respectively receive from Talia are both canon. Bruce's letter comes from _The Batman Files_ and Jason's is from the first issue of _Red Hood: Lost Days_ and since that particular issue is canon to the Changeling-verse (Jason's vision in the last chapter was from that), I thought it would fit well.


	6. Part VI

_**Author's Note:**_ I'm actually flying out to the San Francisco myself this Saturday ^_^ It may just be for a business trip but I'll try to get some inspiration while I'm there. Also I posted Talia's letter to Bruce from _The Batman Files_ on my tumblr. I'll post Jason's a little later. Enjoy and please review!

* * *

Jason was glad he didn't dream that night and wondered if the fresh country air was to thank for that. Contrary to what he'd imagined, the farm didn't smell. It was in remarkably good shape considering that neither Jonathan or Martha were exactly young, and even though he could get a week's worth of chores done in minutes, Clark wasn't there every day. He and Dick had agreed to stay the morning and help out before hitting the road again in the afternoon.

But apparently he'd risen before everyone else, so Jason found himself wandering outside in the pre-dawn light. It was a little chilly in the open so he meandered until he was at the barn. Inside the animals were waking as well. Jason didn't know their feeding schedule and wasn't sure what he should give them, so he simply walked over to the horse stall. A rust brown colored mare lifted her head instinctively and whinnied, unsure of what to make of the stranger.

"Easy, girl." Jason smiled and extended his hand palm up. The horse sniffed at his fingers and apparently satisfied, lowered her head. "I know we just met and all, but I got something for you."

Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a crab apple he'd picked up outside. The horse sniffed at it again, then devoured it greedily. He patted her muzzle affectionately then picked up a brush and began to comb out the tangles in her mane as she munched contentedly on the apple. The repetitive motion of the brush and warmth and rhythmic breathing of the animal was soothing. Jason could easily understand why some preferred animals to people. He definitely felt that way at times. Dick had been surrounded by animals all the time growing up in the circus, and he wondered if it had contributed to his brother's generally easy-going nature.

_Little D might like a pet, too_, he thought and made a mental note to ask their father if they could get a dog when he got home.

The barn door creaked open, and Jason looked over the horse to see Mrs. Kent enter with an arm-full of bags with various animals drawn on it. He tossed the brush, patted the mare, and ran over to take the animal food from her.

"Thank you, dear." She smiled and wiped her brow. "I'll never say 'no' to some help around here. Don't tell Jonathan. He thinks he can do everything himself."

"My lips are sealed, Mrs. K." Jason returned the smile and lifted one of the bags of food. "Where do you want these?"

"Just spread a few handfuls around the chicken coops," she instructed. "They'll figure out the rest from there."

He did as instructed, and they worked in silence for a while. The birds, always first to wake, were eagerly flocking to the piles of grain. From the corner of his eye, Jason could see Mrs. Kent attending to some of the other animals. He left the bag of feed propped up against the knee-high fence and went over to help with the goats.

They worked in silence for a short time, but he noticed the silver-haired woman kept glancing over at him. A small smile played on her wrinkled face, but Jason didn't dare ask until she spoke up on her own. She didn't disappoint.

"I can see it, you know." The words were almost off-hand. Jason turned to the elderly woman and looked at her quizzically. "Your daddy. Right there, around your eyes."

He froze. It was not the comment he'd ever expected, and Jason didn't mean for the sigh to come out as a scoff, but somehow it did. "There's no point pretending I look anything like him. You know I'm adopted."

"Oh, I know that, honey." Her tone was sweet, but strangely not pitying. "We visited the Planet once, you know, back when Clark first started out. Wanted to see this fancy new job our boy got himself. He always introduced us as his ma and pa, 'cause that's what we are. No long-winded explanations there. So after we shake hands, Mr. White says how Clark looks just like Jonathan. They both just smiled and accepted the compliment, and you know something? In that moment they really did look a lot alike."

Jason smiled as well, because Clark and Jonathan Kent looked _nothing_ alike, but he could almost picture it as Martha told the story.

"My point," she took his hands in her wrinkled ones, "is that we're more like the people who influence us most. Might be birth parents and might not be. You let your daddy be that main influence, so when you smile, that's his smile, rare though it may be. Doesn't matter if you're not blood. You understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah," Jason sighed, "don't just assume people are blind or suckin' up when they say stuff like that. Might be that they actually see something. I hear you, Mrs. K."

"Good." She patted his hand. "It works the other way, too. Damian's mother: obviously you see something there that you brother doesn't."

Jason sighed. "You really want me to talk about this?"

"I think you want to talk about it, hon. Just maybe not to someone you see on a daily basis."

He blew out another deep breath, not even knowing where to begin. He didn't mind talking to Mrs. Kent, really he didn't. It was a little like talking to Alfred except that he knew there didn't have to be any follow-up talks with his father after the fact. But how could he articulate thoughts and feelings he hadn't been about to even get a handle on himself.

Not for the first time, Jason wished he really felt nothing but anger and hatred toward Talia. He wanted everyone to think so, but he'd come to the conclusion that no one was really buying it. What harm could it do just to try to _try_ to say it out-loud?

"It's... complicated," Jason inwardly cringed at the cliché word choice, but Mrs. Kent seemed to understand.

"But it's not all bad," she ventured a guess, "whatever it is you see."

"No." This time he didn't hesitate. "It's not all bad."

* * *

_Jason knew he was a coward._

_Perhaps a qualifier was in order..._

_He was an _emotional_ coward._

_He didn't burn the letter as he'd threatened, but nor did he read it. It was tossed to the bottom of his desk drawer where he hoped it would be buried under a pile of other papers and eventually get taken by the same gremlin that used to steel his socks when he was a kid. There was always a slim chance of it being _accidentally_ thrown out._

_Realistically he was pretty sure it wouldn't happen._

_So Jason moped. Down in the cave with a sparring dummy or simply in front of the television. It went on for a solid five days until Damian's first day of school came about, and then he'd actually volunteered to come along to see him off. The kid might have been trying to hide his anxiety about being in a real school, but Jason knew better._

"_I think I'm going about this the wrong way."_

_From his position in the front passenger seat of the Mercedes, Jason raised a brow at his father._

"_About the preppy school?" he guessed, looking back at Damian's retreating figure. The boy made it half-way up the steps before looking back. Jason waved at him reassuringly. A sense of normalcy was important, and it did appear to help. His little brother raised his hand half way, then turned back towards the main doors of Gotham Academy._

"_Actually," Bruce pulled back out into traffic, "I was talking about you." He looked deep in thought for a moment, then glanced at him. "You want to go to the park?"_

_Robinson Park was nice in the crisp fall weather, and Jason's inner child was thoroughly enjoying the crunch of brittle leaves under his feet. He knew a talk was coming. Bruce might have given him space, but he'd only let him mope for so long. But when his father finally spoke, it wasn't quite what Jason had imagined._

"_Did Damian seem... okay to you?"_

_The question threw him for a moment. Jason had been fully expecting something about himself. His father had said as much when they drove away from the school. But Bruce never said or asked anything without meaning, so Jason answered honestly._

"_He's anxious." He admitted. "Real school instead of tutors... kids his own age... He's not used to any of that."_

"_Is that all?"_

"_Isn't that enough?"_

_Bruce's gloved hand went to rub the side of his neck, a habit that the teen very rarely saw. It was the equivalent of the way Jason himself tended to rub his nose with the back of his hand. A nervous tick that he almost expected Batman to be beyond. But then Bruce and Batman were not always the same person._

"_I'm afraid I might have been looking at him... differently lately."_

_Jason's frown deepened. "Different how?"_

"_Like I'm not seeing him." There was a pause before Bruce quietly finished. "Like I'm seeing his mother."_

_Jason, who had been bracing himself for... something, felt his insides ho cold. He tried not to think of Talia, not to compare her face to Damian's. But he _had_ been waiting for a talk, so he tried not to tense or flinch, to bury his anger. He swallowed hard._

"_I think you're both doing fine." He did his best to keep his voice steady. "I think he's in a new place with a new family. That's a lot of changes for such a little kid, but he's trying to do the tough-guy thing. I mean, come on, you know how it is. We've both done it."_

_He tried to make it sound like a final statement that wouldn't further the conversation. Not that that was going to happen. His father did look like he was thinking something over._

"_And are you still doing it?" He finally asked. "The tough-guy thing, as you call it."_

_Jason half scoffed, half sighed. "Dad..."_

"_No."_

_Bruce stopped and took his arm to stall him as well. When Jason stopped, he let him go and they stood facing one another for a long moment as the wind blew more leaves past them. His father steepled his gloved fingers in front of his mouth, looking like he desperately wanted the right words to come to him. Apparently having found them, he breathed out._

"_Please don't think me cruel for bringing this up," he said slowly, "because you're my son, and I love you so the last thing I want to do is hurt you. But, Jason, the last time we didn't talk... the last time you walked out angry..."_

_Jason's face instantly softened, probably the opposite reaction to what his father was expecting, but at some point soon after his return, the young man had come to the conclusion that his death had possibly been harder on Bruce than on himself. _He_ had had the benefit of oblivion and no memories of the years and pain immediately after his resurrection. His father on the other hand..._

"_Okay, Dad." He put a hand on the older man's shoulder. "Let's talk."_

_Bruce looked visibly revealed, like a great weight had been lifted off him. He exhaled slowly, again seeming to gather his words._

"_I know you're angry with me," he began, "for things I have – or haven't – done or could've done differently."_

_Jason bit his lower lip trying not to think of the Joker, locked away at Arkham Asylum, but for how long? He tried not to think of Tim, the R blazing brightly on the left breast of _his_ suit. His eyes screwed shut for several heartbeats, but when Jason opened them again, his father was looking back at him._

_It was okay._

"_I know," Bruce was saying, "that Talia is one of those... issues. You think I'm not... angry enough with her."_

"_I don't know if you're angry at all," Jason gave a half-hearted shrug, "but, look, it's your right. You two are the ones with the history. Whatever it is, you're entitled to it and you don't owe me an explanation."_

"_But I can give you one," his father interjected, "at least I can to try. I'm deeply, _deeply_... hurt and... saddened that I missed Damian's birth, his first words, first steps. I'm sorry I missed all those firsts, and I'm sorry I wasn't _rightthere_ for your return. And I am under no illusion that Talia could have made all that possible."_

"_If she wanted to," Jason sneered._

"_If she thought she could." Bruce said calmly. "When you're a parent, you'll understand."_

"_Huh, keep dreaming." There was no universe in which Jason imagined himself a father._

_But his dad just smiled wistfully. "I will."_

_The statement, his father's utter faith and belief of the best in him, unbalanced the teen momentarily. Jason cleared his throat, uncomfortable again. "So you're trying to tell me that I don't get that she could _possibly_ have a good enough reason for _abandoning_ her kid, but some day I will?"_

"_No," Bruce shook his head, "I'm saying that whatever else she did, she gave you back to me, gave me Damian. I wish it could have been sooner, but I cannot be angry at her for that. I'm... grateful."_

Grateful_... Jason turned the word over in his head then frowned slightly. "Are you..."_

_The way his father was looking at him, Jason wasn't sure if he wanted him to finish that sentence. It felt wrong. Sure, he'd teased Dick about his so-called 'booming' love life – because, really, there was Babs, and his big brother was an idiot – but this was his father and whatever Jason himself felt about her, Talia wasn't just some girl on Bruce's arm at a party for the sake of appearance. He decided on saying the only thing he could think of._

"_I'm grateful too, Dad."_

_That, at least, was the truth._

* * *

He helped Mrs. Kent with the rest of the animals, and when they got back to the house, he found Dick leaning over the kitchen table with a large map spread out in front of him. He looked deep in thought and was in the middle of tracing a highway route with his index finger, but looked up when they entered.

"Breakfast will be ready in a bit," Mrs. Kent announced and busied herself at the counter. Jason walked over to his brother.

"Trying to figure out where to next?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dick admitted. "Honestly the only thing between here and the west coast is Las Vegas and a whole lot of sand."

Jason grabbed an apple from the basket and bit into it. "And you keep reminding me I'm under age."

"There's other things to do in Vegas than drink or gamble," Dick told him.

It was on the tip of Jason's tongue to say 'strip clubs?' but Mrs. Kent was in ear shot. He raised a brow instead, and his brother rolled his eyes.

"As if you're seriously interested in any of that anyway." Jason shrugged. That was true enough. "Anyway, there's lots of shows, including Cirque du Soleil, and word is the food all around is amazing."

"Not as amazing as Mrs. K's cooking, obviously."

Jason raised his voice enough that it clearly carried. The old woman turned slightly to give him a smile. He grinned back, not caring about how transparent he was about kissing up as long as they got a few bags and boxes of home-cooking for the road.

"Obviously," Dick agreed with a smile of his own, "but still worth a stop."


End file.
